


what happened in seanchan

by The Master of the Deck (officiumdefunctorum)



Series: on wednesdays we whump [3]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Child Death, Gen, Mat Cauthon Needs A Hug, Men Crying, Miscarriage, Nynaeve being awesome, Post AMoL, Post-Canon, Saidin - Freeform, Torture, Unbeta'd, We Die Like Men, Whump, on wednesdays we whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officiumdefunctorum/pseuds/The%20Master%20of%20the%20Deck
Summary: Nynaeve is just minding the garden when a man falls from the sky.
Relationships: Nynaeve al'Meara/Lan Mandragoran
Series: on wednesdays we whump [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661389
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	what happened in seanchan

**Author's Note:**

> Doesn't everybody have this headcanon about Mat?
> 
> (Created as part of the "On Wednesdays We Whump" for WoT Trash discord. Invite at the end!)

The last thing that Nynaeve had expected when she woke up this morning was for Matrim Cauthon to literally drop out of the sky and into her garden.

Malkier wasn't much to talk about, even eight months on after the blight had melted away and the Thousand Lakes had once more been free of the Dark One's touch. What remained of al'Lan Mandragoran's birthright was crumbled halls and ruined homesteads, literal dust and ashes of a once proud and honored nation.

But it was _theirs_ , and even if Nynaeve was queen of only a few farms and cottages, they were her people.

So. She hadn't expected— _this_. She shrieked in surprise when the sound of explosions and the sudden sensation of multiple people channeling saidar manifested above her, but before she could do more than embrace the source, herself, a figure came hurtling through the hole in the air and plowed into a patch of chamomile flowers. No sooner had the person hit the ground than the gateway snapped shut, and the sensation of saidar fled.

Running over, several weaves at the ready, Nynaeve halted when she saw a familiar weapon, and even more familiar battered black hat.

 _"Lan!"_ She bellowed, dropping to her knees. It was Mat. By the Light, but it was _Mat._ "Lan, get out here this instant!"

The boy had fallen perhaps a dozen feet straight down, and didn't appear to have any broken bones, but she would know more after she delved him. Placing her hands on his unconscious body, Nynaeve searched out his hurts, and growled in frustration when her power slid off him. Reaching into his shirt, she lifted away the fox head medallion, placing it in the pocket of her gardening apron.

 _Light_ , but he was a mess. She bent to delve him again, but she could already see evidence of injuries, and her eyes widened as she looked with her sight at what the power was telling her. Releasing her weave, she gently turned Mat's slack face from side to side, observing he broken cheekbone and nose, the one remaining eye that was nearly swollen shut.

Tears of anger stung in her eyes as she lifted Mat's limp hand and saw all the fingernails gone, torn out of the beds. She didn't move him further, but the ragged state of his shirt, visibly stained with blood, was enough to confirm what the power told her. His back was flayed open, likely by lash or switch. Elsewhere he was cut, some of them enflamed with infection. His body was feverish.

Most of these wounds were more than a day old, only some of the cuts, bruises, and burns—probably from collateral attacks by the one power—were fresh. An old rage, one that reminded her of a time when a stranger had come to the Two Rivers and stolen away her boys, rose up in her, and Nynaeve lifted Mat's head and shoulders up off the ground to lay them across her lap, smoothing his ragged curls away from his forehead.

Light, what had happened to him in Seanchan?

The garden door crashed open, and Nynaeve looked over at her husband, standing in the doorway with sword drawn.

"It's Mat," she said, her voice cracking as angry tears spilled down her cheeks. "Light, Lan, look what they _did_ to him!"

He rushed over, kneeling beside then, and gave Mat a quick once over. His square jaw tightened, and he met Nynaeve's eyes. "Why haven't you healed him?"

"I want to get him in a bed before he wakes. Lan, this is a problem—the gateway opened right above us, here—but I only sensed saidar _through_ it, not coming _from_ it. We need to alert the Black Tower, and see if Logain can send an Ash'aman through to take a look"

Lan grunted, and scooped Mat up out of Nynaeve's lap. She relinquished him reluctantly, but it made her heart warm to see her husband cradle Mat gently in his arms, adjusting the unconscious young man so Mat’s head lay on his chest.

"Come," said Lan, turning toward the house. "You see to Mat, and I will send out our messages. Theodrin Sedai should be able to get messages through to the Aiel, the White Tower, and the Black Tower to be on alert. I will signal the border towers as well. Something's happened."

Nynaeve looked at Lan sharply. "You think that's all necessary?"

"If The Seanchan have broken The Dragon's Peace?" Lan asked, grunting slightly as he set Mat down in their guest chamber. "Then yes. We don't know yet what has happened, or why, but an abundance of caution is never misplaced when dealing with the Seanchan."

"I'll give them an abundance of _something_ ," growled Nynaeve, leaning over Mat and placing her hands on him, seeking out what she could to heal it.

She felt Lan rest his hand on her shoulder and squeeze once before he departed.

"Blood and ashes, Matrim Cauthon," said Nynaeve aloud, concentrating on putting her boy back together. "What under the Light happened to you?"

And where had that gateway come from?

* * *

Mat woke up screaming.

Jumping, nearly spilling the tincture she'd been vigorously stirring, she dropped her tools and hurried over to him.

Wild eyed, Mat was looking around, panting like he'd run a footrace.

"Mat, it's fine! You're okay," she soothed, reaching out toward him. Mat flinched, and Nynaeve drew back, heart heavy. "It's Nynaeve, I'm here, and you're _safe_."

"Nynaeve?" Mat rasped, and though he had been healed of his hurts, his voice was rough, like he'd been screaming for hours.

She met his eye, her stomach still clenching at the sight of his scarred, empty socket, and nodded, giving him as warm a smile as she could manage.

"Yes," she said, and reached out again, sitting next to him on the bed.

Mat looked at the hand she placed on his knee, back up at her, and his face crumpled.

"I made it?" He asked, choking, his voice shaking. "I—I didn't think— _Light_ ," he said, and buried his face in his hands.

Nynaeve held him as he trembled, not quite crying so much as trying desperately not to. Oh, but she _hated_ these strong men. Why would the world not just let them weep?

"Mat," she said, when he'd subsided. "Mat, what _happened?_ You just—you fell through a gateway," she said, searching his face.

Discreetly wiping at his cheek, Mat flexed his right hand, looking down at pink, empty nail beds. Slowly, he clenched his fist.

"Mat?" she prompted. "Mat, are you—"

Across the room, the wooden cup Nynaeve had been using burst apart. Splinters flew in every direction, and Nynaeve yelped as a few struck her bare skin. Mat, however, gasped like he had been stabbed. Too shocked to do more than stare, Nynaeve watched as Mat threw off the blankets and stumbled out of the bed, his scarred torso bare to the world.

"I need to go," he said, and fled.

Blinking dumbly at the remains of the tincture and cup splattered on her worktable, Nynaeve brought a hand to her mouth, gasping.

That had been the one power.

That had been the _one power_ , and she hadn't _felt it_.

Mat had channeled. Blood and ashes, but _Mat_ had _channeled_.

She embraced the source and raced after him.

"Lan!" She called out. "Lan, we need to find—"

The tableau before her would have been funny, in other circumstances. Under these, it was extremely worrisome.

"—Mat," she finished, looking at Mat, hunched over on the floor with his hands in his hair, and Lan, held spread eagled up against the wall.

Sucking in a breath, Nynaeve prepared a shield, and tried to cut Mat off from the source, only to find that she... couldn't do it. It was always harder to shield a person already holding the one power than one who was not, but Mat was—he was an amateur, and—Light, he couldn't be _that_ strong, could he?

Changing tactics, Nynaeve instead made her best guess at the weaves holding Lan and sliced them away with her own weaves of fire. Mat didn't notice, but he was shaking, and there was—a _smell_ , in the air, something reminiscent of burning hair, or of lightning—and she gestured at Lan to get back.

"Find Theodrin. Did Logain send anybody?" She asked, stepping closer to where Mat knelt, rocking on the floor.

"According to Theodrin, he's coming himself," said Lan, and turned to run in the direction of the travelling and gateway communications area they had on the grounds.

Light, but Nynaeve hoped he got here soon.

Kneeling next to him, Nynaeve placed her hands on Mat's own, trying to work his fingers free from where they looked to be close to tearing his hair from his scalp.

"Oh, Matrim Cauthon," she said, sadly. "What happened to you? Never mind," she shook her head. "Mat, you need to let it go. Release the source, or you're going to hurt yourself."

"It—it hurts, I don't know how," he grit out. "Light, make it _stop_ , Nynaeve!"

Eyes tightly shut, the floor beneath them began to smoke, the wood darkening, and though Nynaeve could sense the heat, it wasn't hurting her. She remembered she had Mat's fox head medallion, and silently thanked what must have been Mat's luck that she had it, or this could turn out badly.

"Breathe, Mat," she said, trying to remember what little she knew of how men trained in the one power. "Remember that trick that Rand used to talk about? The flame and the void?" When Mat nodded, Nynaeve went on, drawing his hands away from his head and pressing them between her own. "Okay. Imagine that void, that emptiness. Let the power flow out of you, an into it."

After a couple minutes, the lightning scent began to subside, and Nynaeve was finally able to slot a shield in place.

"I need to go," he whispered. "I can't—I can't _do_ this, Nynaeve. I just can't. I'm going to hurt someone."

Never in a thousand years of potential life would Nynaeve ever admit it, but in that moment, she was terrified of Mat.

Terrified, traumatized, confused, entirely untrained, and he was... strong. _So_ strong.

"By the Light and my hope for salvation and rebirth," came a deep, disbelieving voice from behind her.

Mat, who now just looked tired, closed his eyes and slumped.

"Hello, Logain," said Mat.

* * *

Theodrin, and the two Ash'aman that had accompanied Logain sat outside of the closed door to Lan and Nynaeve's study, the three of them holding shields in place for Mat. The room was dimly lit, curtains drawn and a fire roaring in the hearth. Mat sat in a chair close to the fire, a blanket wrapped around him, while Lan and Nynaeve sat across from him on a low chaise. Logain stood by the door, not quite looming, but an intimidating presence, nonetheless.

Mat hadn't asked for his medallion back, and Nynaeve hadn't offered it. Keeping it from him broke her heart; this was Mat, this was the boy she had known for more than twenty years. She'd soothed his hurts and paddled his bottom, held his hand on walks out of the village.

Seeing him, not just now, but _before_ , made her realize just how much of Mat that she had missed. There were scars on him she'd not had a hand in healing, and lines on his face that she had never noticed.

"What happened in Seanchan?" she asked, finally.

Mat sipped at the brandy Lan had poured for him and stared at it. When he finally spoke, his voice was slow, halting.

"There were—factions. In Seandar. One of them got to me, so I couldn't..." Mat inhaled, and Nynaeve thought she could sense the strain of the others as they kept Mat's shield in place. "They had me on a—a ship, off the coast. They wanted to know about her shadow."

Pausing, Mat rested his forehead on the glass, and Nynaeve could see his hand shaking, the liquid rippling in the clear glass.

"I didn't tell them," said Mat, his voice flat. "They—tried, but I didn't tell them about Selucia."

"They tortured you," said Lan, his voice flat, hard. "How long?"

Mat stared off into the middle distance, not looking at anybody. "Eight days, I think?"

Nynaeve gripped Lan's forearm and squeezed, hard. Eight days. They had tortured Mat for _eight days_. They had taken and hurt her boy, and she hadn't known, she had been a world away, and hadn't been able to help him.

Oh, someone was going to _pay_ for this.

"When did it happen," came Logain's voice from the door, low and smooth.

"There was a lantern, hanging from the ceiling," rasped Mat, now looking past Nynaeve and Lan toward Logain. "When they left me, I would stare at it. I stared, and stared, and then—"

"It was there. _Saidin_ ," said Logain.

"Yes," whispered Mat, and he wiped at his face where a tear had spilled. He brought the glass of brandy to his mouth with a shaking hand. "I got out."

"How?" Asked Logain, leaning forward as Nynaeve watched him, interest and... something else in his expression.

Mat closed his eyes and shook his head once, sharply.

"Cauthon," continued Logain, stepping forward. "You seized the power, what did you do with it? How did you escape?"

Mat shook his head again, and now Nynaeve could definitely sense the strain in the shield. Theodrin at least was channeling much more now than she had been a minute ago.

"That's enough, Logain," she said, standing and putting herself between them. "It doesn't matter. You're upsetting him."

"It _does_ matter, Nynaeve Sedai," said the tall Ash'aman. "The first things a man channels can help him learn to control it. It's an affinity," he insisted.

"Maybe so," said Nynaeve, unphased by his looming presence. "But right now, he's shielded, and he's in my house, and I am going to take _care_ of him," she hissed. "So sit down and shut up, or go wait outside with the others."

The look on Logain's face was tense, frustrated, but he nodded. "Forgive me. I spoke out of turn."

Saying nothing, Nynaeve turned back to her seat and sat down next to Lan, who gripped her hand and squeezed it, a show of faith.

"Mat," she said, and he tilted his head toward her, looking tired and miserable. "You got out. What happened?"

"Took a horse. Rode back to the palace," he said. "Too late. They—they took my medallion, used it to get an assassin passed the damane. Selucia stopped them, but they—" Mat paused, drained the brandy, hunched forward and clutched his head. "Tuon, Light, they s-stabbed her,” he choked, pressing his hands to his belly, and Nynaeve inhaled sharply. _No._

"He was... so close," Mat looked up, looked at Nynaeve, his eye bleak and desperate. "Light, Nynaeve, they killed our child inside of her. He's dead. My son is dead."

Under his breath, Nynaeve heard Logain swear, and Lan's grip on her hand tightened.

"Oh, Mat," she breathed, feeling sick, her heart breaking for him again. She got up, went to him, and wrapped her arms around him, holding him against her. He dropped the empty glass, gripped his hands in her skirts, and started to cry.

Lan and Logain left the room, and it was a long time before Nynaeve did the same.

When she closed the door, she slumped against it, her own eyes red and swollen. Lan handed her a mug of hot tea, and she took it gratefully.

"He's asleep on the chaise," she said. "Light, Lan. Tuon, she—she _banished_ him. Mat channeled in front of half the Seanchan Blood, so according to him, she had no choice. Male channelers are still anathema, in Seanchan. With their son gone," Nynaeve's voice cracked on the last word. "She said—she said she'd give him a head start, but that he was not her husband any longer. He got his medallion, his hat, his spear, and he ran. He said he made it out of the city before the damane caught up with him. He jumped off of the cliffs and," Nynaeve shrugged. "He kept talking about the dice rolling, or something. I don’t know what that means. He doesn't remember much more than wanting to be gone, somewhere safe."

"Can we do nothing? The Aiel?" Asked Logain.

Nynaeve looked to Lan, but he shook his head. "Seanchan proper is not party to the Dragon's Peace, and most of Mat's hurts were perpetrated by criminals who have already been killed or apprehended. Fortuona is a sovereign with the right to rule as she sees fit in Seanchan. If it had been Tarabon, or Altara, perhaps there could be grounds for redress, but..." Lan trailed off, jaw clenching. "There is no answer for this. None that would not cause a war. We can only help Mat heal."

"He asked if we could gentle him," said Nynaeve quietly. "If it would mean he could go back," she muttered, and wiped at her eyes, once more. " _Light_ , the fool boy. He’s always hated the one power, and now this."

"He is strong," said Logain, softly. It was only the three of them, but he was hushed nonetheless.

"I know," sighed Nynaeve.

"No," Logain shook his head. "You don't. You can't feel him the way I can. He is—" Logain sucked in a breath and let it out. "He is the strongest channeler I have ever felt. Nynaeve Sedai," he looked her in the eye. "He is as strong as Rand al'Thor ever was, and likely we do not know the full measure of his strength, yet."

Wide eyed, Nynaeve looked down at her tea and blinked.

"Come, Logain," she said abruptly, and lead them toward the parlor. "We all need something stronger than tea, tonight, I fear. Let Mat rest."

In the morning, Logain met with Mat, and after a week, they both departed Malkier for the Black Tower.

A hidden door, where no door should have been possible, opened, and a tall man with pale skin and black hair stepped out. Nynaeve folded her arms and looked at him reproachfully.

"You didn't come out to see him," she accused. "You didn't talk to him. Light, Rand, don't you think it might have helped?"

Sighing, Rand walked over to Nynaeve and embraced her. "It would not have helped, Nynaeve, only confused and upset him more. Seeing me, in particular, I think, would have done more harm than good. When he has more control, perhaps then. Logain was right to bring him to the Black Tower. He will find help, there, even if he hates it for a time."

"Logain is going to be back here in less than a month begging us to take him back," muttered Nynaeve, but hugged Rand back, all the same.

Somehow, what had happened in Seanchan would have consequences for all of them, she knew.

**Author's Note:**

> So, obviously Mat can learn to channel. The question has always been, what could _possibly_ motivate him strongly enough to actually do it, or under what circumstances might it happen by accident? I went with the latter, and a reason good enough for the former. But I also made it sad, because I'm me. I regret nothing.
> 
> Now, Mat training at the Black Tower... sounds _hilarious_. Want to talk about it with me and some other nerds? Join the [Wheel of Time Trash discord](https://discord.gg/XUvCR2z) for shipping, fic, prompts, headcanons, smut, kinks, and general flailing about this stupid series that we all love for some reason.


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